


a study in the rate of friendship survival, post (deliberate) cock-touch

by kaalee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Ficlet, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-06
Updated: 2007-07-06
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:59:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaalee/pseuds/kaalee
Summary: A bit of wrestling, not a lot of clothing and someTruth or Dareleave Seamus wondering: "exactly how long can a friendship survive after you've touched each other's cock?"   [Seamus/Dean]





	a study in the rate of friendship survival, post (deliberate) cock-touch

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Drawn for [](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)[**reallycorking**](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/) and based on [this gorgeous Seamus/Dean picture](http://community.livejournal.com/smut_wednesday/9918.html#cutid2) [NWS]. I'd originally planned a drabble. Well, the idea of a drabble sort of ran away from me, and it's now *waves hand vaguely* around 1000 words. Rather porny & prosaic, stream of consciousness, and a little disjointed.   


* * *

**a study in the rate of friendship survival, post (deliberate) cock-touch**

**~for[](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)[ **reallycorking**](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/) ~ seamus/dean ~ rated R**

 

 

Seamus was quite convinced it was Dean's fault. Because calling 'Dare' in Truth or Dare always meant that you had to one-up whatever your actual challenge was, and yeah, that had always been Seamus's unique approach to the game, but could he help it if everyone else just adopted his method of play? Was it his fault that they all just cow-towed to the Irish?  
  
Of course not.  
  
Except, well... currently he only had about twelve percent of his active mind focusing on something other than the slippery wet of Dean's mouth on his (slickly hot and oh my _god_ ) while the other eighty-nine percent -- fuck off then, he's never been good at maths -- was taking in _naked_ and _sweat-dark_ , adding it up, and coming up with _the right thing to do_.  
  
Dean had dared him to drop his trousers and prove he wasn't stuffing his boxers, then Seamus dared Dean to put his own money where his mouth was, so Seamus added: "and after, the first to pin the other wins. When Dean said, "naked," Seamus knew they weren't playing Truth or Dare anymore. Dean must have known that they'd end up this way, tangled and panting (and, _god_ , the staring), because in all of the wrestling they've done over the years, recently it's changed. Changed... changed into strong, too-long grasps, furtive glances full of want, and licks of the lips that should _never_ look as fucking edible as they do.  
  
Dean must have known that.  
  
After they'd both dropped their clothes and landed on Seamus's bed, Dean had rolled him over, but Seamus rolled back and it went on like that a few times until Seamus really did have Dean pinned. They keep laughing as though things were desperately funny (because they kind of were) until Dean leant up and shoved his tongue down Seamus's throat so hard it was like he was searching for jellyfish.  
  
Which really made no sense at all, but neither did the fact that they were naked and wrestling on Seamus's bed and Dean's tongue was in his mouth and...  
  
_God_ , his hands felt like a dirty secret.  
  
Seamus can barely even remember how they ended up naked in the first place. What he thinks he recalls is Dean saying it, so he did it and then there were awkward pauses and slow glances before they'd both simultaneously lunged for each other, falling onto Seamus's bed with a strangled 'oof!' and avoiding each other's eyes like they were suddenly blind.  
  
Avoiding... well, avoiding until Dean's cock brushed Seamus's inner thigh, and again it wasn't just about Truth or Dare anymore -- or maybe it was -- but all Seamus knew was that Dean was hard, and Seamus was hard, and if either of them moved just a few inches they'd...   
  
Oh, god.  
  
The first thought that went through Seamus's mind was: exactly how long can a friendship survive after you've touched each other's cock?  
  
The next thought that went through Seamus's mind was: it probably doesn't matter, just so long as you don't actually touch it with your hand.  
  
Which seemed like a pretty fucking important distinction.   
  
So, he'd looked at Dean, wondering how to communicate that without using any actual groin-related words. That would have been too obvious. He glanced down to seen Dean's mouth, hanging open while he breathed heavily and stared down between their legs. When he looked up at Seamus with his chest heaving, it was another simultaneous twist of movements that ended up mostly alright even though there might have been bruising and a knocked knee or two. Though, that didn't seem to matter much really; not when there were cocks hanging out.  
  
Now they're pressed together, aligned at every important point and Seamus is pretty sure he's never wanted something more. It isn't anything like he's ever imagined. This rocking, twisting (panting, grasping) motion makes him simultaneously hyper-aware of every inch of his skin and fucking thankful that human beings ever had the good sense to develop the ability to feel.  
  
The staring might be what undoes him. Because not one of the (sixteen and a half) sex books that Seamus's mam made him read when he was younger said anything about ejaculation because of a look alone, and Seamus is pretty sure if _that_ happened, it would be either really, really lame or really, really remarkable.  
  
Instead of puzzling it out, Seamus keeps looking at Dean, who keeps looking at him, all without stopping. The slide of their cocks together might make him weep if he hadn't hexed his tear ducts into Scotland on a dare when he was fourteen. He's here and he isn't, and every slide of their bodies send his important organs careening around inside his skin like they've partied seven days out of ten and now can't find the loo. When Dean grunts and arches, Seamus goes with it: rocks with him and shuts his eyes so he can keep his brain from spilling out in sheer fucking ecstasy.  
  
Exactly four immeasurable moments later, he feels a sharp jerk, then a wet spurt over his belly and Seamus curses and lets Dean's fingers dig into his skin and drag him into his own fall into oblivion. When he comes, he feels his arm buckle slightly and something fogs his eyes while his insides seep together and shudder all at once. When the exploding pinpricks behind his eyes (purple, then yellow, red, blue) melt into liquid _perfection_ Seamus curses, then laughs, and falls onto the bed next to Dean.  
  
"Doesn't count, mate," he says, still grinning. "We never used our hands."  
  
Dean looks at him, then arches his arms overhead with a self-satisfied smile on his face and says, "You called 'dare.' I reckon there wasn't a bit of that you could call my fault."  
  
"Just like the English. Naturally. Always blamin' shit on the Irish."  
  
When Dean holds his hands up as if to absolve himself of all blame (the wanker), a single, wicked idea takes root in Seamus's mind and he feigns defeat. He reaches for the blankets and pulls the curtains around them, his smirk finally fading as his body relaxes.  
  
Seamus falls asleep, his mind full of delicious anticipation over what Dean will be in for when he calls 'dare' the following night.  
  
  


::

  
~Thank you so much for reading ♥  



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